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CIRCUS from the collection “Choreography”
A light switch is out of reach. There are lessons only darkness can teach the both of us, none to each. A cigar starts its lonely burn. Ash and smoke both in turn the smallest thing it will ever learn. At dawn the circus tent collapsed and woke the lions from their naps. Their heads were fire, their tails were asps that bit your wrist before it got kissed so spit the poison on my tongue. Look out love, here we come. A lullaby in a voice that’s strange. A bezoar blows across the range, and its shaow says that things can change. Curtain crumpled beyond repair hangs from the stage like your hair hides your eyes, filters your air. Like a colony of wasps gather pollen, he gathers props, he doesn’t wait until the fire stops. And much fun is made of the bucket brigade: their shoes are floppy, their mouths are dumb, look out love, here we come. Like the movement of the glaciers, you know her scent but you can’t place her. She’s gone to become one with nature. The yellowed palms, the broken back crisscross here like railway tracks that scar the land like heart attacks. The clown car fits only 29 they need to leave one behind and tell strangers that they find that the joke is on the best of us. The iron in our blood turns to rust and until it can no longer run, look out love, here we come.
Written by Ryan J. Tressel
RJT: All instruments
Recorded August 2007.
